


Five times Mr Graves takes care of Credence (and one time Credence takes care of him)

by gothyringwald



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: 5 + 1 Things, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Foot Massage, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 09:25:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9228707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothyringwald/pseuds/gothyringwald
Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin, as it were :)





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've kept the timeline vague, so while I wrote it as only being original Graves, you can see whichever Graves you want (for the first couple of sections, at least). 
> 
> Also, I'm in the Credence is a legal adult camp (early 20s) in case anyone wondered/worried.

A strong hand lands on Credence's shoulder as he grasps the brass doorknob, stopping him from leaving. His gaze snaps up to Mr Graves, whose brow is furrowed. Credence gulps, worried he's done something wrong, but the older man only tuts at him, tugs his coat together, buttoning it up to the very top. 

Stunned, Credence watches as Mr Graves takes a garnet coloured scarf from the hook by the door and ties it around his neck, fingers brushing his chest through the coat. The scarf is soft against Credence's face when he nuzzles into it, smells like Mr Graves, earthy and crisp.

'Have you got your gloves? It's cold outside, today.' Mr Graves takes Credence's hands in his. 

Amusement, at the older man's concern, bubbles inside Credence, mixed with not a little awe, for no one has ever shown such care for him. 

'Yes, here they are.' He reluctantly slips one hand out of Mr Graves's grasp, produces the buttery soft kid leather gloves from his pocket – presented by Mr Graves in a sleek black box, nestled in gossamer thin tissue paper – waggling them. 

'Good boy.' Mr Graves's deep voice curls through Credence, settling low in his stomach. Credence bites his lip. Mr Graves clears his throat, smooths Credence's lapels. 'Don't want you getting sick, do we?'

Credence shakes his head, though a little part of him wonders if Mr Graves would take care of him if he did get sick, if a cold would be worth more of Mr Graves's attention. 

'No, Mr Graves.' He leans over and kisses Mr Graves on the cheek before he can think better of it - a fleeting look, dark and heated, on the older man's handsome face - and when he steps into the frosty air, he is warmed from inside out.

__

Credence watches, hands curled around the seat of his chair, as Mr Graves kneels before him. He slides one scuffed shoe off, then the other, peels off his socks and sets them aside, cradling Credence's ankle in his hot palm. They are in Mr Graves's apartment – dimly lit, sumptuous – after a long, arduous day. Mr Graves had told Credence to sit, and he obeyed dutifully, trusting Mr Graves, but now he squirms under the older man's attention, face hot.

A bottle of amber liquid flies toward them. 'Liniment,' says Mr Graves, removing the cap with a flourish of his wand. Credence thinks he might be showing off. He pours some of the oil onto his hands and the scent wafts up to Credence. Astringent, herbal.

Mr Graves grasps Credence's ankle, lifting his foot and pulling it onto his lap. He starts working the liniment into his skin and it is suddenly too much. Credence slips his foot out of Mr Graves's hand, tucking it under the chair.

'Y-you can't do that.' 

Mr Graves leans back, still kneeling, oily hands careful not to touch anything. 'Why not?'

'It's demeaning.' He ducks his head.

'Jesus did it, didn't he?' Credence gasps, looks up, and Mr Graves gives his ankle a reassuring squeeze. 'Don't worry - I'm not saying I'm Jesus, or even like him. But if it wasn't demeaning for him, why should it be for me?'

Credence frowns. 'Jesus washed his disciples' feet, he didn't give out foot rubs.' Shocked at his own audacity, correcting Mr Graves like that, Credence opens his mouth to apologise but Mr Graves chuckles, shrugs. 

'Still. You are in pain and I can help.' Earnest, firm. 'I want to help.'

Credence nods, reluctantly, returns his foot to waiting hands and Mr Graves continues his ministrations. He rubs the balm into Credence's aching skin, one foot at a time. Heat courses through Credence, pooling in his belly. He always delights at Mr Graves's touch, lives for it, but it has never felt so exquisite before. 

A little pleased moan escapes him, unbidden, when Mr Graves digs his thumb into the fleshy pad of Credence's foot. Mr Graves does it, again, harder, eliciting a louder noise, from deep within Credence. A space he didn't know existed. He flushes, ashamed, because the pleasure he feels must be evident but when he brings himself to look at Mr Graves, afraid of reproach or disgust, the man is only smiling.

__

'I killed all those people, Mr Graves.' A shuddering breath, a twist in his stomach.

'It wasn't your fault.'

Credence ignores the platitude that he's heard so many times from so many mouths. He sits a moment, watches Mr Graves watching him, patient, kind. Then, quietly, barely above a whisper, 'Some days I don't even feel bad about it. What does that make me?'

Mr Graves takes his hand, lays a gentle kiss on it that makes Credence's breath catch. 'Human, I'd say.'

Credence blinks, tears falling. He lets them. Mr Graves wipes them away with his thumb, cups his jaw. He leans in close, and Credence's heart jumps. The other man's breath is warm, damp between them, and then Mr Graves leans in and kisses him, very soft. Credence kisses back, harder, clumsy, hoping the kiss will consume him.

But Mr Graves breaks away, pulls Credence into his embrace, stroking his back, his hair. Credence struggles a moment, this tenderness too much, but finally relaxes into the older man's arms. He breathes in deep, focussing on Mr Graves's scent, the solid warmth of him in his arms and the maelstrom inside him settles, for now.

Mr Graves repeats, voice low, 'It makes you human.'

__

Hot water laps around Credence's thighs, over his stomach, soothing his weary muscles. Baths were a rarity in his life, before, and to be allowed to soak like this is still a novelty, something to cherish. Steam billows around the tub, infused with the scent of lilacs. He scoops some bubbles into his hands, watches the light catch on their pearlescent sheen, then drops them into the water again. The bathroom door opens and closes, letting in a gust of cool air and Mr Graves settles on the stool by the side of the tub. Credence only briefly thinks of covering himself, now.

Mr Graves, sleeves rolled to his elbows, reaches into the tub, hand skimming Credence's thigh, and picks up the washcloth. 'Lean forward,' he says, and Credence does, hugging his knees. Mr Graves runs the cloth over his back, water trickling down his skin, over his old scars. He doesn't think of them as much, these days. 

When Mr Graves is satisfied, he pulls on Credence's shoulder so he leans back again. The ceramic rim digs into his shoulders. Credence's eyes lock with the older man's, never leaving them as he runs the cloth over his sharp collarbones, down his chest, lower over his stomach. It tickles and he huffs out a laugh. Mr Graves smiles at him, eyebrows raised, but remains silent.

The cloth moves slowly along one thigh, down over his knee, calf, around his ankle and foot, then back up the other leg in reverse, until Mr Graves's hand rests on his hip. It's hotter than the water, burning, and Credence's already hard cock twitches at the sight of that big hand on his pale skin. He wraps his fingers around Mr Graves's wrist, but doesn't move his hand, though he desperately needs to be touched, needs Mr Graves to touch him. 

'Do you want me to?' Mr Graves leans over him, hand inching inward, fingers curling over the edge of his thigh, digging into his flesh.

'Yes'. Credence nods, hopes Mr Graves means what he thinks he must. Adds, breathless, 'Please.'

A smirk, and then Mr Graves's hand is wrapped around his cock, water splashing as he moves, too slow. Credence makes a noise that Mr Graves correctly interprets to mean 'faster' and he picks up his pace, clever hand twisting, squeezing, working over Credence better than his own hand ever could. 

It's not long before pleasure builds to its crest within him, and his hips tilt up, head listing sideways, seeking contact with Mr Graves as he comes with a quiet moan. Chest heaving, a little dazed, he looks up to Mr Graves whose hand is now resting on his thigh. The older man is regarding him intensely, pupils wide, nostrils flared. Credence wraps his hand around Mr Graves's wrist, again, fingering over the pulse, which beats rabbit fast beneath his fingertips.

Mr Graves gives him a crooked smile, slipping out of Credence's grasp, and wipes his hand off with the washcloth. He leans over and kisses Credence, surprisingly chaste, on the mouth. He pulls away. 'Sleepy?'

Credence nods, languidly, eyelids drooping, lips curved into a content smile.

Another kiss lands on his temple and a strong hand pulls him out of the water. 'Time for bed, then.'

__

A piece of chocolate floats through the air, guided by Percival's wand, twirling, loop-de-looping like a biplane swooping through the heavens. Credence laughs as the chocolate dances out of his reach once, then twice, before Percival captures it and feeds it to him with his own hand, fingers pushing into Credence's mouth for the briefest of moments. Credence suckles at them before they are withdrawn, eliciting a low sigh from the older man.

A crumpled sheet is pooled around them, as they sit in bed, Credence cradled between Percival's legs, a sheen of sweat covering them both. He can feel the rumble of Percival's chuckle against his back as he sighs happily around the candy. It melts on his tongue, sweet and rich.

He turns to press a sticky kiss to Percival's jaw, the salty tang of sweat, sex, hitting him as he noses along the man's neck, pressing another kiss over his pulse. Percival sighs through his nose, runs his hand up Credence's chest, leans down to kiss his mouth. The angle is a little awkward but their tongues meet and it is perfect. Until Credence's stomach rumbles, interrupting their kissing. 

'Still hungry?'

Credence blushes. 'Yes.' 

'I guess we did work up an appetite.' Percival's voice is low in his ear, arms squeezing around Credence's middle. Credence blushes as he remembers not too long ago the weight of Percival over him, wrists pinned by an invisible force. Fingers bruising his hips, which thrust up as Percival drove down, into him. Face framed by his own knees, ankles crossed behind Percival. Bent, spread, filled. 'What else do you want to eat?'

Credence nearly blurts 'you' but catches himself, says the first food he can think of, 'Roast beef? With gravy.'

'I'm not letting you eat that in our bed,' - Credence glows, toes curling in joy, at 'our bed' not 'my bed' – 'and we don't have any beef. How about a sandwich? Cheese. Grilled, just the way you like it.'

Credence nods and watches, still enchanted by displays of magic, as ingredients fly in from the kitchen, combining in the air to make a cheese sandwich that grills itself. This time, Percival levitates the food straight into his waiting hands and Credence munches on it happily, the older man's arms encircling him.

'Better?'

Credence hums around a mouthful of bread and melted cheese, leaning his head back on Percival's shoulder, swallowing thickly.

'Good.' Percival presses a kiss into his hair. 'I like to know I'm taking proper care of you.'

__

Credence rolls over, half asleep, and finds the other side of the bed is empty, cold. He blinks, vision blurred, and sees the shadowed figure of Percival standing at the bedroom window, back to Credence. He sits up, blankets slipping off him. 'Can't sleep?'

Percival turns, half shadowed, half illuminated by moonlight. 'Sorry, did I wake you?'

'No. Maybe.' He turns and checks the time. 'Come back to bed?' He reaches a hand out across the sheets, resting where Percival usually sleeps.

Percival hesitates then crosses to the bed with a sigh. 'How can I resist such temptation?' He says, fingers lightly dancing over Credence's stomach, but it lacks his usual flirtatiousness.

'The dreams, again?' Asks Credence, a little awkward – he is still reticent to speak up, question, but the urge to help overwhelms his hesitance.

Percival shakes his head. 'Just restless. I didn't want to wake you with my tossing and turning. Guess I did, anyway.'

'It's OK.' Credence reaches out and cups the older man's jaw, stroking along his cheek with a thumb. He traces dark circles under darker eyes. 'Do you want one of those sleeping potions?'

A sigh. 'No, they always make me feel so sluggish the next day.'

'Hot chocolate? Or warm milk?' Credence asks, searching his mind for remedies.

A smile tugs at Percival's mouth. 'No. But thank you.' He lies down on his back, staring at the ceiling. Credence rests a hand on his ribcage, the steady thump of his love's heart beating under his palm, reassuring.

'I could sing to you.' He doesn't know where the suggestion comes from, wonders if it's strange. Do adults- do lovers sing each other lullabies? 'Sorry, that's-'

'Yes. OK.' Percival looks up at him, his own hand now atop Credence's where it still rests on his chest. 'You have a lovely voice.'

'When did you hear me sing?'

Percival turns onto his side. 'In the shower, once.'

'Oh.' Credence lies back down, pulls Percival to him, resting the older man's head on his shoulder, eliciting a surprised huff. He runs his hand through Percival's thick hair and starts to sing. He doesn't know any lullabies, so he sings a no-maj song he'd heard a few times, filtering out of a music store, when he used to hand out the pamphlets. It was a pretty tune, simple, one that had stuck with him through everything.

_“Now that my blue days have passed,_  
_Now that I've found you at last -_  
_I'll be loving you always...”_

Credence falters, feels a little foolish, but Percival hugs him tighter, says 'don't stop,' in a thick, drowsy voice and Credence keeps singing. Soon, Percival is sleeping soundly, lulled by the singing and Credence himself drifts back into slumber, holding his lover close and tight.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :) I don't know how everything I write turns out so fluffy but, hey, what's a girl to do?
> 
> Find me on tumblr if you like: [@gothyringwald](http://gothyringwald.tumblr.com/) :) I'm socially awkward but friendly, I hope.
> 
> A few things:
> 
> This idea evolved around the foot massage (which was initially graves washing Credence's feet) and built from there, when I realised I wanted to write a scene like that, but not put it into a larger narrative.
> 
> I guess I must have a thing for Graves bathing Credence because I've written two fics for them, now, and both have a bath scene.
> 
> The coat one came from listening to ['Button up your Overcoat'](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rclfkeyy1bg).
> 
> The song Credence sings is Irving Berlin's 'Always'.


End file.
